the letter

sometimes a feeling can overflow into my fingertips and pour into the keypad like liquid honey.
sometimes a feeling is so strong that it can't belong
not to this pad, not to this world of words, not to the black and white of the happily ever after.
but, i'll try anyway. sometimes a classical music piece says it better. or Carlos Gardel's Tango.

he wrote me a letter.
it was the perfect letter that I never thought I would get.
ever.
and see, how i am at a loss of words. i will have to go my goldsmith that is hidden where the gnomes live, in a dark deep mountain.
i will have to go and smith the words, pour them into golden leafs and jewelry that will be my nightsky.
he sent three little curb flowers with it.
fragile, like butterfly wings, pressed, flat, shimmering, light, so frail and yet so heavy in meaning.
the butterflies have returned.